MPLSART Sketchbook Project

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No matter the climate, one of the most common threads to be found among the many paintings of Flahn Manly is warmth. Through largely representational works, Flahn transforms how viewers interpret Black life, electrifying forms and faces with shine and depth. And upon learning more about what it is that leads him through his art-making process, Flahn&rsquo;s decisions around warmth make more and more sense. He discusses a campaign he completed on Black nobility, focusing on the humility that the discipline of painting requires of him.

&ldquo;One of the challenges I find is dealing with resistance in getting started. [Sometimes] it&rsquo;s not what&rsquo;s coming through, it&rsquo;s about getting into the canvas. Eventually I surrender. And sometimes something will come through me and what emerges is a completely different piece&hellip; Ego will say you want to be in control of the work, rather than letting it work through you.&quot;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjQ3NzUwMDAx/full.jpg" />

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Though he doesn&rsquo;t say it outright, it is this same &ldquo;surrender&rdquo; Flahn describes that is perhaps a lesson in nobility itself.

Born in Liberia, Flahn moved to Minnesota in 1998.&nbsp;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been an artist since childhood,&rdquo; he says.&nbsp;Art was the way Flahn learned to express himself. &ldquo;And now, it&rsquo;s my life.&rdquo; &nbsp;

As the child of immigrants, he says, the occupational industry of art-making wasn&rsquo;t always an option in his home. &ldquo;It was a no no.&quot; But as he moved through high school, he found artistry to be his saving grace.

&ldquo;It&rsquo;s how I learned. I loved science, I loved history, language. I was also always kinesthetic, always hands-on&hellip; Drawing and painting were ways for me to have all of those things&rdquo;. &nbsp;

Now, splitting his time between Connecticut and Minneapolis, Flahn is focusing on paying the solace that he found forward. Having run a pilot program with the Boys and Girls Club to have kids come to the studio and paint with him, Flahn tells me, &ldquo;If art could save my life, how many others could I help?&rdquo;&nbsp;&diams;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjE5OTMwMDAx/full.jpg" />

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjM3NzYwMDAy/full.jpg" />All images courtesy of the artist.&nbsp;To see more of the artist&#39;s work, follow him on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/flahn.art/" target="_blank">@flahn.art</a>.&nbsp;

A participant in our 2020 Sketchbook Project, the painter reflects on the power of art in his life.

Sketchbook Artist Profile: Inside The Vibrant Representational Work of Flahn Manly

MPLSART

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Unlike many of us who &mdash; perhaps by birth, marriage, or employment &mdash; came to live in the frigid plains of the Midwest, interdisciplinary artist and MCAD MFA graduate Roshan Ganu shares that she came here for the polar vortex. Not in spite of it. What&rsquo;s more, it&rsquo;s these thoughts on the insulation and reflection &mdash; literal and otherwise &mdash; ushered in by winter that frame both the monumental and miniature life and work of Roshan Ganu.

&ldquo;I love the winter,&rdquo; says Ganu proudly. &ldquo;For one, it always teaches me something new. There&rsquo;s something about the fresh snow, especially how it looks at night. The reflectivities&hellip; The way that any trace of light bounces off of it and brightens the street.&rdquo;

Looking back to just last year, during an artist residency that she undertook in rural Minnesota, Ganu recalls, &ldquo;There were times that you couldn&rsquo;t tell where the earth had ended and the sky began.&rdquo;

With a collection of work that scales the sides of buildings and captures entire sentiments in a stretch of cotton-sheathed streetlight, it&rsquo;s no surprise that someone of Ganu&rsquo;s imagination would come to such mythical epiphanies about a season that even the most veteran Minnesotans might come to resent every now and again.

Ganu&rsquo;s sculptural installations play with scale &mdash; some larger than life, others shrunk way down and incorporated into animations. Her&nbsp;love of cartooning lends the work a playful sense of humor, even as she&#39;s investigating very real themes of identity, immigration, and isolation.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjIzNTMwMDAx/full.jpg" />A recurring character in Ganu&#39;s work is Chappal, an animated cartoon slipper commonly worn in India, who has adventures here in Minnesota. Screenshot from 2-part video series made in conjunction with the Minneapolis Institute of Art.

Thinking again about her time in the snowy, rural flatlands, Ganu remembers the isolation as what led her to internal reflection. When asked what being an artist means to her, Ganu admits she never thought that she was one. The idea of art was always outlined with rigidity.

&ldquo;It was always the Renaissance, the pristine human figure. That&rsquo;s not what my work is.&rdquo;

Growing up in the Indian state of&nbsp;Goa&nbsp;with her mother&nbsp;&mdash;a linguist&nbsp;&mdash;&nbsp;and her grandmother, who was a painter until the birth of her children, Ganu saw the work of her grandmother to still be art, albeit within the home: a love that often took the form of embroidery and crafts she made for her family. Art as service.

&ldquo;I saw art to be the act of creating a home, beautifying it,&quot; she says.&nbsp;&quot;Growing up with that idea of building home has really stuck with me.&quot;

Equally important for Ganu is the telling of a story. With an undergraduate degree in Journalism and a master&rsquo;s in French and Linguistics, Ganu shares that in her miniature works, &ldquo;It starts with a story &mdash; pulling from personal history &mdash; then juxtaposing it with a seemingly incontextual, &lsquo;I am here&rsquo;... Appropriating the space around me to create a sense of familiarity, always meeting the space halfway&rdquo;.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjI5NjUwMDAx/full.jpg" />Screenshot of East 25th Street, Minneapolis; papier-m&acirc;ch&eacute;&nbsp;&amp; mixed media animation; 2019.

Works like that of East 25th Street, Minneapolis operate as ample illustration. Moments become worlds within the sculpture&rsquo;s 24 x 10&rdquo; frame, and worlds become moments. Ganu describes East 25th as an experience in and of itself &ndash; a multi-media installation captured <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G90BYrqdi4c" target="_blank">in this video performance</a> &ndash; laden with texture, scents, simmering lights, and even the sounds of her own voice.

&ldquo;I remember people coming out of it emotional, so I thought it&rsquo;s not just the size, it&rsquo;s the sensorial experience. My voice, the visual, the smell. If that&rsquo;s possible at this scale, what happens when I scale up? Will it hold?&rdquo;

Even her relatively large pieces, like The Banyan Tree standing at 6 feet tall, are still bound between the real and the fictional. And as is Ganu&rsquo;s artistic mandate, &ldquo;Wonder and amusement are kept at the center.&rdquo;

Her art, like that of many artists, starts inward. &ldquo;I view it as a strength that I am extremely vulnerable in my process. And it drives my process and dictates the final thing. Even after the thing is over, the living decisions are still translations of my feelings, that vulnerability.&rdquo; It&rsquo;s an illustration of the human condition &mdash; that if she is tender and puts that into the world for others to see and consume, then naturally there must be some universality to that vulnerability. For Ganu, that too is play.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjM3NjkwMDAx/full.jpg" />Ganu&#39;s stage set for her upcoming collaboration with Ritika Ganguly&nbsp;at the Minnesota Opera, part of their MNiatures series: 8-10 minute collaborative&nbsp;operas pairing artists from different creative&nbsp;practices.

With projects on the way with the Minnesota&nbsp;Opera, the Artistry in Bloomington, and a solo show at the Duluth Art Institute, Ganu has no shortage of space for more worlds of miniature size and more tenderness. If she has to take a break, however, walking is her activity of choice.

&ldquo;I love walking,&quot; she says.&nbsp;&quot;Cities, towns, villages. It gives me a sense of place. I&rsquo;m doing that in my work, as well. This could be the research. And each city has such a discrete street language. Stickers, graffiti tags as mapping sources. I google and go from there. Investigating, mapping. When random people tell me about their day. The image of a cat drawn on a footpath.&rdquo;

Ganu makes clear that excitement drives her even in a packed schedule. That in light of the ways that the pandemic has forced her work to become virtual, it&rsquo;s also becoming giant. She&rsquo;s finding solace in a winter like no other &mdash; and rightfully so. Because when you work with concepts as huge and as utterly personal as Ganu does, you can find&nbsp;joy&nbsp;even&nbsp;from&nbsp;being in flux, comfortably. &nbsp;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjM3NjgwMDAx/full.jpg" />The artist in her studio.&nbsp;

To see more of the artist&#39;s work, visit <a href="https://www.roshanganu.com" target="_blank">roshanganu.com</a>, or follow her on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/blingalingthoughts/" target="_blank">@blingalingthoughts</a>. All photos courtesy of the artist.

Ganu&#39;s&nbsp;collaboration&nbsp;with Ritika Ganguly&nbsp;and&nbsp;the Minnesota Opera, titled Xylem, premieres Friday, February 12th at <a href="https://mnopera.org/mniatures-tiny-operas-big-ideas/" target="_blank">mnopera.org</a>. The <a href="https://www.mplsart.com/events/unfurled-artistry" target="_blank">group show at Artistry</a>, titled&nbsp;Unfurled&nbsp;and&nbsp;curated by Christopher E. Harrison, will run February 26 - April 2. Ganu&#39;s DAI show is scheduled for the fall.

Mixing the large and the small, the real and the imagined, Roshan Ganu's artwork connects us to home by way of humor.

The Many Worlds of Roshan Ganu

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Upon asking Shade Pratt what it was that spurred her dive into the life of art and design, the answer at first was pragmatic &mdash; and profound.

&ldquo;I know design isn&rsquo;t going anywhere&hellip; Everything around me, you, from the computer you&rsquo;re typing on to the bench you&rsquo;re sitting on &mdash; has been designed.&rdquo;

For Shade, though, the value of design in her life doesn&rsquo;t solely consist of its practical use-value. To create something you&rsquo;ve never seen before is always a regenerative act.

Born in Maryland and raised in Minnesota, Shade returned east to the University of Maryland where she graduated with a degree melding art, architecture, engineering, and sustainability. Since then, between her world travels as a professional soccer player, Minnesota has always been home &mdash; her most recent stay elongated by the pandemic. As a designer whose visual acumen spans from shoes to murals to illustrations, Pratt says that&nbsp;&ldquo;Art is a part of everything I do.&rdquo; The value in art&rsquo;s omnipresence is that it&rsquo;s freeing for the artist.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjI3NDkwMDAx/full.jpg" />Untitled, acrylic on canvas triptych, each 18&quot; x 36&quot;

In the past few months alone, that same ubiquity has moved Shade Pratt to hone new and long-shelved talents. She tells me she brings her camera everywhere, so when protests started in the wake of the murder of George Floyd, &ldquo;I was out there &mdash; camera in hand &mdash; trying to shed light for everyone who wasn&rsquo;t here [in Minneapolis] on what was really happening.&rdquo;

But, as can be the nature of protest, being on the frontlines took a toll. &ldquo;So I started to paint,&rdquo; she says. By way of bright, dynamic, large scale murals, Pratt tells me how she moved her voice into the visual language of paintings. To be clear, undertaking large&nbsp;scale murals in collaboration with local artists was still a labor, be it of love. They stood long hours under June suns, climbing up and down&nbsp;ladders, paintbrushes in hand. Folks started seeing Shade&rsquo;s work donning the sides of buildings across the city and commissions started coming in. She tells me, &ldquo;I really haven&rsquo;t put down a brush since.&rdquo;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjE5NzUwMDAx/full.jpg" /><img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjQ5NjUwMDAx/full.jpg" />The artist at work on her mural, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, at 605 Central Ave NE in Minneapolis.

The pieces that manifest are illustrative and for her, driven by nostalgia and abstraction &mdash; an emphasis placed on negative space. &ldquo;The problem can be knowing when to leave space,&rdquo; she says, &ldquo;where to stop&rdquo;.

When I ask about her process and sources that inspire, Shade tells me, &ldquo;Inspiration can come from anywhere,&rdquo; explaining&nbsp;that any moment in a day, every scene within a scene can be the seed for creative thought. Zooming out, Pratt mentions being inspired by transportation, cosmetics, infrastructure, and music colliding with it all. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t just stay in your market.&rdquo;

The line isn&rsquo;t straight, and the field isn&rsquo;t level. She shares that since May, much of her practice takes place within her home. Sometimes pieces are wholly driven aesthetically, and like we all hesitate to admit, content can arrive within a work much, much later.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjUxNDYwMDAx/full.jpg" />At home as much behind an easel as she is&nbsp;out on the pitch, the artist also has a successful career in professional soccer.

Equally significant to her artistic practice and underlying motivation is the fact that Shade Pratt also happens to be a successful professional footballer, usually playing the position of a winger&nbsp;or attacker&nbsp;for multiple teams spanning continents from North America to Asia. Though with the onset of COVID-19 around the world, her training and playing has been placed on a bit of a hold.

What&rsquo;s revealed itself as critical to any discipline of hers, especially that of art-making, is time management, organization, and getting used to not being in one place for long. So whether it be through mural-making for the public or footwear design internships&nbsp;for the likes of Adidas and New Balance, Shade isn&rsquo;t afraid of fluctuation or of shaking things up. With plans to work with an up-and-coming brewery on a new mural, partnering with local businesses expressing a positive message will always be important to her. She shares that, when it comes to the field, her goal is to inspire girls to pursue sports.

When it comes to art, her goal is to speak to the community, better yet the world.&nbsp;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjMzNTUwMDAx/full.jpg" />Tumble, acrylic on canvas triptych, each&nbsp;40&quot; x 30&quot;

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For more info and a full portfolio, visit&nbsp;<a href="https://shadepratt.com" target="_blank">shadepratt.com</a>&nbsp;or follow the artist on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shadepratt/" target="_blank">@shadepratt</a>.

Banner image: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (detail), mural at 605 Central Ave NE&nbsp;in Minneapolis.&nbsp;All images are courtesy of the artist.

The 27-year-old professional soccer player and multidisciplinary artist/designer shares a bit about where she is and how she got there.

Shade Pratt Knows That Design Is What Makes the World Go 'Round

Burn Something is a 7-panel multimedia installation located on the bustling corner of Lake Street and Bloomington Avenue that boasts the visual works of 7 POCI and Black nonbinary, femme, and trans artists. And it has been a long time in the making. The creative brainchild of Emerging Curator Institute fellows Adrienne Doyle and Gabby Coll,&nbsp;Burn Something&rsquo;s imagery is as poignant as the artist statements that line them. Below, Gabby and Adrienne offer insight into their method, mission, and trajectory as it relates to their latest undertaking.&nbsp;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjQzNTMwMDAx/full.jpg" />Installation photo by Adrienne Doyle.

Cameron Downey: Where lies the power in centering the voices of Black and POCI femme, non-binary, and trans-identifying people at this moment in time, at this reckoning?&nbsp;

Gabby Coll: The need to prioritize Black and POCI femme, nonbinary, and trans voices isn&rsquo;t exclusive to the time. Burn Something Zine was founded in 2014 &mdash; almost 7 years ago. This curatorial project was started long before the uprisings of Summer 2020 began. Uplifting traditionally marginalized folks is always urgent. Dismantling white supremacy is always urgent. Now, the social context is serving as a more pronounced backdrop to this work.

So much of this exhibition seemed to manifest itself. There was something happening in the work that allowed for many elements of it to align in ways beyond our control. Take just the name: Burn Something Zine existed long before the uprisings, and now the exhibition that is bringing this work back to life is installed for the public to view on the same street where a few weeks prior, buildings were literally burned during protests against Minneapolis&rsquo;s violent police force.&nbsp;

Another example: during the beginning phases of curating this project, we struggled to find a venue, hesitant to show this work in a white-walled traditional gallery space. When we finally secured a gallery (Modus Locus) our intention was to make it feel intimate and cozy in ways galleries normally don&rsquo;t, in order to make it as accessible as possible.&nbsp;

Now, the exhibition is literally on display for anyone to see, on a prominent corner in Minneapolis &mdash; no white walls to be seen. The choice to install the pieces on boarded-up windows of the Family Partnerships building was one in response to the Covid-19 pandemic, but the overall ethos of this solution aligned well with our intentions and came to fruition pretty quickly &mdash; as if it were meant to be. I think all of this speaks to the timelessness of this essential work.&nbsp;

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjM3NTIwMDAx/full.jpg" />Justice Jones, Primary Self-Portrait, pen and acrylic on paper, 2019.

The phrase &ldquo;Burn Something&rdquo; is one that you&rsquo;ve coined and kept around since the start of your zine! How has your understanding of and tie to the connotations of this phrase changed over time? How do you see it changing in the future?

Adrienne Doyle: As a title, &ldquo;Burn Something&rdquo; is representative of the anger that myself and so many others have felt regarding the racist, intangible power structures of this world that cannot be decimated with the immediacy of a match. It is an invitation to ritual: burn that which you must let go and clear space for new growth. It is a social invitation to build relationships: let&rsquo;s kick it and put something in the air. &ldquo;Burn Something&rdquo; is my FUBU offering, exemplifying that BIPOC folks can and already have created solutions to what they feel is missing in their communities. In the context of the MN Uprising, the Burn Something exhibition connects all of the sentiments named above to the literal burning of our city in response to the death of George Floyd. It&rsquo;s been said that there is prescience in the name of this project, but I think the title is just a reflection. Racism has been burning communities of color in Minneapolis for generations.&nbsp;

We&rsquo;re building for the future, now. Curating this exhibition sparked the February 2020 founding of the Burn Something Collective, a group of 7 Black and POCI femme, nonbinary, and trans artists, including Gabby and I, Genevieve DeLeon and Zola Richardson (artists in the exhibition), Nancy Musinguzi and Mare Lodu (past Burn Something Zine contributors), and Lizy Bryant. As a group, we work at the intersection of curation, publishing, and mentorship to offer resources and support the agency of artists in our communities. There are a number of projects in the works for the next year. In a couple weeks we&rsquo;ll be releasing a call for submissions for a new public art installation. Follow the collective on Instagram (<a href="http://instagram.com/burnsomethingzine">@burnsomethingzine</a>) or visit our website (<a href="http://burnsomething.org">burnsomething.org</a>) for updates.&nbsp;

What did the selection process for the Burn Something exhibition look like, given that you had to choose just one image from what were entire issues of work?&nbsp;

AD: Aligned with the accessible, submission-based nature of Burn Something Zine, Gabby and I released a call for submissions for this exhibition in Fall 2019. To select work, we used our artist eligibility criteria (Twin-Cities based, BIPOC, clear tie to themes of the exhibition). Once we selected our artists and announced the exhibition in January 2020, Gabby and I did studio visits with each artist to build relationships, understand more about their respective practices, and work with them to finalize the selected work and decide collaboratively on their work&rsquo;s presentation in the exhibition. Four out of seven of the artists we selected for this exhibition had never shown work before.&nbsp;

GC: It was difficult to transition this exhibition to an outdoor installation. I was nervous to ask the artists to adjust their work and presentation, especially after we had worked so intentionally with them to curate the show around their vision and their own processes. But when we brought up the new format and installation idea, all of them were on board immediately. I am so grateful to all of them for being so flexible and accommodating, and for going along the ride with us with such grace. For this, and so much more, I am grateful to all of them. After that, it was actually quite easy to select the pieces; for many of them, we already had one piece in particular that we had energy and excitement around. It was a bummer to not be able to show all the works we selected from all of them, but in the end I think thematically, visually, aesthetically, all the pieces we selected work really well together and create quite a striking installation.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjMxNjEwMDAx/full.jpg" />Zola Ellen, Untitled&nbsp;(detail), digital photograph, 2020.

Why this location? Why public art now, in this shape and form, when there&rsquo;s been so much &mdash; namely in the adorning of boarded up businesses during the uprisings in May?

GC: A lot of the answer to this question is mere necessity. When COVID shut everything down, we really struggled over what to do for several months. We didn&rsquo;t know if canceling outright or pushing back the exhibition to a later date would be best. Eventually we realized that the pandemic was not going to let up anytime soon, and gathering large groups of folks indoors was not going to be a possible or comfortable option for some time. When we started considering what that meant &mdash; Do we cancel? Do we push to 2021? Do we shift online? &mdash; George Floyd was murdered and the MN Uprising began. We were exhausted &mdash; spiritually, physically, emotionally. Everyone was.&nbsp;

When things had settled a little bit, Adrienne floated the idea of installing the exhibition as a public art installation/mural, and everything just kind of fell into place from there. We got in touch with Tricia Heuring from Studio 400 and Creatives After Curfew and they had a location available. It seemed to be the right fit; the location was right in the community that we want to be interacting with in this work. The work speaks to broader contextual events in a more subtle, oblique way - portraits of George Floyd are wonderful tributes and a symbol for the movement, but I think there are other ways to be in conversation and contribute. After that, it was just logistics, figuring out how to physically install the pieces, get high-res images of the artists&rsquo; work or photograph their work ourselves, writing <a href="https://issuu.com/burnsomething/docs/burn_something_exhibition_catalogue">the exhibition catalogue</a>, etc. (Shout-out to Arts District Image Works for printing such high quality prints in such a short time frame!).

Anything else you want to speak to? What&rsquo;s on your mind? What have you been listening to and watching? What has brought you peace?&nbsp;

AD: I really don&rsquo;t know how any of us are getting out of bed at all. Right now, I&rsquo;m experimenting with screenwriting to tell my stories and make an offering towards more inclusive media representation for folks that look like me. I&#39;ve been revisiting a lot of Frank Ocean&rsquo;s catalogue, watching apocalyptic TV series on Netflix, and thinking about Octavia Butler&rsquo;s Lilith&rsquo;s Brood, wondering what humans must look like to extraterrestrial lifeforms right now. An artist collective was an unfulfilled dream I had while I ran Burn Something Zine, and I&rsquo;m so energized by the founding of the Burn Something Collective and the work we have ahead of us. I have endless gratitude to the local and national contributors that submitted work to Burn Something Zine. Without y&rsquo;all, this project would still be a daydream!&nbsp;

GC: Not much brings me peace these days. I haven&rsquo;t slept soundly since March. Working on this exhibition and on building up the Burn Something Collective are some of the few things that bring me deep joy and calm. I feel so lucky to be surrounded by such brilliant, thoughtful, creative people in this work. Working with Adrienne has been beyond a joy - I am always learning from her. I don&rsquo;t think she fully understands how much! I am forever grateful that she was open to the idea of working together to apply for the ECI in the first place. Lately I&rsquo;ve been watching a lot of Schitt&rsquo;s Creek, and teaching myself Tarot and astrology. The latter are very grounding in this time of immense uncertainty.

<img alt="" class="img-responsive" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/cdn.mplsart.com/file_container/RmlsZUNvbnRhaW5lch4fMjQzNTIwMDAx/full.jpg" />Photo by Adrienne Doyle.

Burn Something, a public art exhibition presented by the Emerging Curators Institute, is on view now at 1527 East Lake Street in Minneapolis. To learn more, visit <a href="http://burnsomething.org">burnsomething.org</a> or follow them on Instagram <a href="http://instagram.com/burnsomethingzine">@burnsomethingzine</a>.

Banner image: Kieran Myles Andr&eacute;s Tverbakk, missing (detail), digital print, 2019. All images courtesy of Burn Something Collective.

The curators of a new exhibition talk about how the show evolved from the pages of their zine to the streets of South Minneapolis

Written by Cameron P. DowneyWebsite

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